


Standing tall and refusing to fall

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Escape, Kidnapping, M/M, Non Consensual, Object Insertion, Violence, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 05:11:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/511354">On Their Hands and Knees (They Won't Say Please.)</a> Jared and Jensen have been taken to their new owner's house, but neither of them is willing to lie down and die- they'll fight to the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standing tall and refusing to fall

**Author's Note:**

> Present for lylithj2 as my first Wishlist fic of 2012!

The blindfolds go back on of course, and Jensen can't decide whether that's a relief or not. On the one hand it means he has a little bit of blankness, a little bit of blackness to sink into, and pretend that he can't see what's going to happen to them. On the other hand he needs every scrap of information possible, if they're going to effect an escape. He needs even the tiniest of details, the smallest bits of knowledge that they let drop. He lets his bound hands do some exploring, even a touch can tell him the smallest thing. They're in a van, he knows that much, and his fingers when they touch the floor come back with sawdust smeared on them. He can imagine why. The man who has bought them, is a bastard, a nasty son of a bitch, who trades in human flesh, but he isn't stupid. This van is probably a hire, an anonymous blur that blends into the rest of the traffic. It'll be returned when the day's up he reckons, and he wishes desperately that he had something to drop. No such luck, his pockets had been emptied when he arrived, as had Jared's. They had nothing between them to call their own but their minds.  
  
  
He tries as unobtrusively as he can, to scratch something into the floor, but it's hard and unyielding, doesn't give way at all, and he gives up soon, leans his head back and tries as hard as he can to think of something. There's heavy breathing in the dark, and his ears have grown sensitive enough to differentiate between different people, besides Jared still and quiet beside him, there are two guards. They're two of the most frequent, one the man with the stale overwhelming scent of Lynx, the other with the slightest rasp, the slightest hitch to his breath. He knows they're holding their guns loosely and casually, ready to shoot, toys for a moment with the idea of inciting them to shoot him. A way out of this misery at least, then rejects the idea violently. Nothing is worse than death. Death is an end, is giving up. However risking it is a whole different matter.  
  
  
It's dark in the van, and he knows instinctively that this is their best chance so far. The guards have guns, but they're also going to be unwilling to shoot high priced merchandise straight off, and they're in the dark as well. He lets his foot steal out, touch Jared's lightly, wishes there was a way he could tell the other man what he was planning, then Jared presses back with two solemn taps and he wonders if Jared has been thinking on the same lines as he has. He shuts his eyes under the blindfold and hopes. Their feet are untied, he doesn't know why. It seems like stupid foolishness to him, leaving them free to save the guards the work of picking them up and throwing them in, but then he isn't a slave trader, doesn't know how their minds work. It's small comfort defining himself against what he isn't, but it's better than defining himself as what they want him to be. As far as he can tell, he and Jared have been thrown far into the van. The guards are closest to the doors. He's going to have mere seconds to make his move, and he debates within himself which to try. Is it worth waiting until they stop when the men from the front of the van will come round, or worth trying now and making it out the door and possibly falling onto a freeway at top speed, and dying that way?   
  
  
He prays to whatever is out there that he's made the right decision, has to accept that if he hasn't, then he's taking Jared's life as well as his own into his hands, risking them both. He waits until the van brakes sharply at what is presumably a red light, then kicks Jared's foot hard, and using his bound hands to press against the solid wall behind him he launches himself up, keeps his head low, and dashes forward two steps, raises his legs to kick the door, connects as hard as he can. Even with the small amount of exercise that they'd managed to get done while imprisoned, his muscles are weakened, somewhat wasted and it feels like the most pitiful kick ever. The guards are up now, the butts of their guns smacking into him and he hears one of them swear at him. "Fucker, fucker," and he tries once more, hears a separate thud from beside him knows that Jared has come to his aid, understood what's he done.  
  
  
And Jesus, the door swings open under their combined force, and fresh air rushes in.  He lets himself fall forward, is willing to have his face smashed into tarmac, to take the risk of being run over just as long as he’s out, but he feels himself being caught, being dragged back, away from the light that he can see through and under his blindfold, and from the wet desperate gasps of Jared, he knows he didn't make it either. He's beaten now, savagely, mercilessly and the light is gone. There isn't just anger behind the blows, there's fear, the man who thuds the butt of the gun into him time after time, is terrified, Jensen can hear his breath hitching once again, catching in torn ragged gasps, and he can't help laughing. We almost made it, he thinks. We almost beat the sons of bitches. It's poor comfort as he falls into the oblivion of unconsciousness.  
  
  
When he comes to, there's light. Bright light. He's bound hand and foot now, and his blindfold is off now. His whole body hurts, like he's one giant bruise and he's alone. He doesn't dare to do anything, doesn't dare to shout, wonders at his stupid fucking bravado. Had he really thought that that would work? That like some hero in an ancient black and white movie, he'd knock out the bad guys and save the day? He couldn't resist the smallest huff of laughter, refuses to think like that. It could have worked. And if he hadn't tried, he'd be in the same place as he was now.  
  
  
Footsteps are echoing, and he craned his neck to try and see who was approaching. His nose told him before his eyes did.  The same rotting heavy expensive perfume was filling the room. The man who'd made him fuck Jared, who'd bought his actual body was here, and Jensen let the hatred flood him. Hatred was good, it kept you remembering, kept you fighting. He needed it. Hatred drove out the fear that was trembling in his veins, running through him like iced water until he wanted to scream with it, wanted to choke on it. It was fear like nothing else. He had no blindfold on, and the man approaching was wearing no mask. More than anything else, he feared what that meant. If the man wore no mask it meant he had no fear of Jensen escaping. He didn't care if his face was seen, because there was no chance that Jensen was going to live to tell this tale.   
  
  
He squashed the fear down, drove it back into a corner. They couldn't keep him bound forever. A tiny voice told him that it could, and he threw that into the darkest corner of his mind along with the fear. Screw that. He raised his chin up, defiant still, unapologetic, and the laugh that greeted the gesture did nothing to calm his nerves. He closed his eyes for a second, heard the sound of a chair being dragged over, and then the touch of a hand on his chin, lifting it up still more like the viewer wanted to examine his jaw and his throat. This touch was clinical still, but lingered like there was the potential for much much more. The other man spoke for the first time. "Beautiful," he said, and there was a deep rich satisfaction in his voice. "You'll do very nicely."  
  
  
Jensen suspected he'd already lost every ounce of possible leverage he might have, what with having spat on the man's shoes, and trying to escape, and so he moistened dry lips and managed to fumble out. "Fuck you," As retorts went it lacked wit, but had the benefit of one hundred percent undivided sincerity behind it. The second laugh was again, less than reassuring.  
  
  
"Jensen open your eyes," the voice continued, and he opened his eyes so he could fix the face of this bastard into his mind, since even if he never managed to escape, he could still know the features of the man he'd try his best to kill. The face that met his was horrific in its ordinariness. There was nothing different to this man, than to a hundred men whom Jensen had met before. There was a certain middle-manager quality to him, the sort of look that men who are very highly paid for a certain type of work assume when they wish to be underestimated, and he let Jensen study him to his heart's content. "I'm here Jensen, to explain to you what is going to happen. There will be no more foolish escape attempts. There will be no arguing, no fighting and no disobeying. Some days you will be unbound, other days you will be bound, and that will be at my pleasure and discretion."  
  
  
There was no way in hell Jensen was going to do any of that, but having already learnt the better part of valor he just looked away. No point giving the bastard anymore reasons to suspect him.  
  
  
If he could convince this man that he regretted trying to break free, that he wasn't going to be any trouble then he would have a much better chance of escaping. "I understand," he said quietly, however much the words stuck in his throat.  
  
  
"Of course you don't," the man said and his voice was amused. "It's written all over your face you know. Which is why you should listen to everything I have to say. Some days you will be required to be used in various capacities by guests. Some days I will fuck you. And when you're no longer any good to me, I'll give you to a friend of mine who covets beautiful young men to create masterpieces from. He's very very good at not leaving any traces. I assure you that you want to put off that time as long as you can. The only way you can do that is by doing exactly what I tell you to do. Otherwise it'll be your friend Jared who goes first, and you will be required to watch. I trust I make myself clear."  
  
  
Jensen nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The bastard. The fucking evil bastard. He had no doubt that the other man meant it, there was the cool calm look of the truth-teller in his look, as though he merely relayed the facts. "Good. You look a little more aware. My name is Alec, but you won't address me by that of course. You will call me whatever I tell you to call me. Now I'm going to leave you to clean yourself up, and I expect you to present yourself to me in no more than an hour." He turned on his heel and left.  
  
  
A shiver ran through Jensen. Suddenly the light that had been such a relief was an agony, and he wanted to cover his head and cry. Softer footsteps approached, someone knelt with a knife and cut him free. For a moment the movie flashed forward in his head, grab the knife, slide it between the ribs of whoever it was, run after Alec and do him in. Then common-sense re-asserted itself, and the inevitable sequence of events played out in his mind's eye. Jared being given to some psychopath, being tortured himself. He wasn't sure if it was the sensible thing to do or the cowardly one, but whichever way he let the opportunity slip, allowed the ropes to be cut off, and the small man who was wielding the knife to take him by the hand and tug him upright.  
  
  
He hurt, all over in a way that he wouldn't have believed possible- when he glanced down he was covered in bruises, already darkening and blackening over his body, and he moved like an old man, like his bones were so precious and so tender that he'd snap if he moved too fast. His steps were halting, but the man displayed no annoyance, just slowed his pace, took him into the next room and held him as he slipped under the hot water in the bath. It felt so good it almost hurt on his skin, and he suppressed a gasp, let himself sink under entirely as though he could block out what was happening, looked upwards through the water and the bubbles, saw nothing at all. He couldn't stay under forever though, had to come to the surface, wash himself and try and massage some of the aches out of himself. He was no good to man or beast in the condition that he was in, and he resented it. There was nothing he could do while he was as weak as a dog.  
  
  
Eventually with the help of the man whose name hadn't been volunteered, he managed to stand. He vaguely noted that nudity like shitting in front of people had suddenly become the least important thing he could have cared about. Where before he'd have felt self-conscious at being naked in front of a stranger, now all he could care about was that he wanted a towel for the warmth. He reached out shaking hands, and the man handed it to him, helped him drape it about his shoulders, patted him dry and he watched numbly as what apparently was going to be his only piece of clothing was handed to him. A leather collar of the kind you’d put on a dog. “I’m not putting that on,” he said numbly, and the other man blinked nervously, opened his mouth as though going to say something then closed it again, but not before Jensen had caught a glimpse of his severed tongue. Suddenly the other man’s silence made much more sense, and he had to swallow twice before he could speak without fear of throwing up. “Was that a punishment?” he asked, and the other man nodded. “For disobeying?”  Again the hesitant nod, and Jensen allowed the collar to be clasped around his neck, his new mantra running through his head. Save your energy for when it’s needed.   
  
  
He followed the other man, still slowly, still conserving his strength, fearful of what lay before him. ‘Alec’ had said he might be shared, and then would eventually be discarded when he was of no further use. Jensen didn’t really want to think how much you had to be used and in what way before that happened to you, but the long slow walk gave him plenty of time to imagine it. When they finally got there, the first thing he noticed was Jared, also naked and with a collar clasped firmly around his neck sitting on the floor, by the sofa on which Alec sat. His eyes were solemn but not terrified, and he even managed to twitch a smile at Jensen, and just a shadow of a wink. Jensen was flooded with relief at the sight, whatever had happened Jared had kept his spirit. He hadn’t realised until that moment how much he’d depended on Jared being Jared. He turned and faced Alec instead.   
  
  
He was lounging on the sofa, the picture of ease, a grey man who could have been signing a multinational deal into being, or stamping a social security card with equal believability.  Jensen shuffled forward, trying to plaster a look on his face that wasn't outright disgust or rebellion, and only indifferently succeeding, judging by the reaction of weary tolerance from Alec. "Stay," he was commanded, and thankfully stopped. "Turn." He turned, letting them see him from every angle, mind already retreating back, disassociating itself from his body. He found himself almost mildly intrigued as to what Alec would want him to do, as though he was watching it all from a distance.  
  
  
When ordered to kneel he knelt, now on an eye level with Jared, who pulled the stupidest face possible, and Jensen immediately bowed his head hoping it would be taken for submission, in reality attempting to hide the reflex tremor of his lips as he tried to stop himself from laughing. He got that he was meant to be intimidated by this, but part of him couldn’t help thinking that this was just an especially ludicrous dream since things like this didn’t happen in real life, and the rest of him just didn’t care that much. If Alec was going to kill him then he’d do it, nothing they could do would change his mind.   
  
  
As though at some silent signal, two guards walked in carrying the video camera on its tripod, and the  facetious commentary that seemed to have overtaken Jensen’s head continued. If they were making top quality porn for the perverts of the world he thought dryly, surely it was an investment to actually buy some decent cameras, maybe a few mics perhaps even some better adapted lighting. If you’re rich enough to have people kidnapped as your sex slaves, a bit of money spent on the details wouldn’t go amiss. But then that’s how rich people got rich,  he supposed. Take care of the pennies and the dollars will take care of themselves is what his grandmother used to say.  
  
  
He looks up at Alec, sees the other man’s fingers carding through Jared’s hair, then wrenching his head back with it, until his throat was bare and vulnerable, like the rest of him, can read nothing of what’s going on behind those dark eyes. Eventually Alec sighs as though he’s made a decision, and then bends Jared’s head back so far it looks like it’ll snap, and Jared goes with it loose and pliable, only the fingers clenched into the carpet telling a different story.  “You don’t understand yet I think, exactly what I can do to you,” he says, and the fucker almost sounds sorrowful, as though he doesn’t want to do this, as though he doesn’t get off on every second of it. “I saw you fuck Jared, Jensen as though you didn’t want to hurt him, as though what he wanted mattered more than what I wanted to see. This is something that will be thrashed out of you in time I can assure you. “ He pushes Jared’s head forward again, and then the rest of him until he’s on his hands and knees, head down, no smiles  now, secret or otherwise.   
  
  
The guard is there, finger on his trigger, handing a bottle of lube to Alec, and a riding crop. It looks deceivingly innocuous in his soft manicured hands. Jensen catches the eye of the guard.  as he retreats back to the doorway, and to the companionship of his fellow guard. He has no doubt this one is new to him, no doubt the rest had fucked off back to wherever they came from, probably in search of more people to steal. He stares at him just for a second, doesn’t allow a flicker of fear to pass his face. If the worst comes to the worst, that gun is a way out of here.    
  
  
Alec tosses the lube over to Jared, and gestures Jensen over. “Jared,” he says, “I want you to fuck yourself on your fingers. Get yourself open and loose and wet as fast as you can, because you get forty seconds by my count.” For the first time a flicker of humiliation passes over Jared’s face, because it’s obvious why the time frame has been given. How fast can he press up into himself, how open can he get in so little time, how much will he be forced to do rather than risk being torn open by whatever Alec has planned for him. He takes the lube though, and Alec makes a show of checking his watch. “Whenever you’re ready Jared,” he remarks, and Jared gets to work.  Jensen is torn. He doesn’t want to watch Jared this, but he doesn’t want to look away in case Jared looks at him, and just sees Jensen turned away. In the end he fixes his eyes on Jared’s face, watches him minutely, sees the flickers of pain, as he tries desperately to relax to open enough that he can get lube inside of him. It doesn’t feel like forty seconds, it feels like an hour, and Jensen knows Jared must be sore already, still aching tender from where Jensen had fucked him no more than four or five hours previously.  He isn’t aware that he’s stopped breathing himself until Alec brings the proceedings to a halt, and the closest guard obviously trained for this, dons a mask and strides forward, and switches on the camera.   
  
  
He takes the whip handed to him, and looks inquiringly at Alec who gave a minute nod, and then pushed Jensen to the ground, and with short powerful strokes he began whipping him as though he were a recalcitrant horse. The strokes stung like fire, and Jensen held his silence grimly, terrified more than anything that he might bite  through his tongue from the pain,. It seemed to go on forever, whether or not the guard enjoyed his work, Jensen wouldn’t have been able to guess, but certainly he had an even hand, one stroke landing firmly on top of another, the bruises from before flaring back into new life, red welts being overlaid onto his skin, the pain flooding through him in waves until his whole body shook from it. Somewhere around the twentieth blow, he became aware that Alec was talking, his voice a low murmur. “This is the beginning Jensen. Give me time and you won’t even remember your own name. This is to teach you more than one thing. Laughing is a thing of the past. I see you Jensen, you thought you were quick enough to hide your smile, but you weren’t and this is what you get.” The words faded out after that, and Jensen closed eyes that were wet with tears he hadn’t even realised he was crying. When the guard stopped, he barely noticed, his whole being still consumed with pain.  
  
  
His hands were numb, the only things that he couldn’t feel, the rest of him in agony, his breath coming in short desperate gasps. I don’t think I screamed, he clutched the thought blankly to himself, hands that felt like burning brands settling themselves on his ass rocking him backwards, and once again  he heard Alec speak. “That was your punishment Jensen for smiling. This Jared, is yours for making him. “ He felt the blunt weight of the guard’s dick press forward in him, and this time he did let sound escape, the pain magnified by the whipping he’d received, not merely the thickness pressing him, but the guards hands pressing into his skin. The guard himself had clearly at some point lubed himself up, but it hurt more than anything that he could imagine, a stinging ravening pain that made him want to beg for its cessation. He opened his eyes again, saw Jared’s face, a mask of agony staring at him. The world was weirdly deathly quiet to him, like his ears had decided to give up on him, he could hear nothing but the desperate pants of his own breath, watched as Alec picked up the whip, and pressed the end firmly into Jared, began fucking him with it like he wasn’t good enough to touch. Wanted to close his eyes, and remember fucking Jared. If he was going to die from this, he wanted the memory of being close to him for whatever value of close. He didn’t close his eyes though, this Jared was real and in front of him.   
  
  
As though from an aeon away, he heard a cell ring, saw the guard at the door who’d been watching them, glance down at it, and clearly decide whether to take the call or not, then pick it up. He caught Jared’s eyes and couldn’t describe exactly what he saw there, a sort of desperate fondness and resolve, understood half a second before Jared made his move, exactly what was going to happen. He threw his weight back as hard as he could, ignoring the pain, working through the agony, threw himself back hard, pushing off the floor with his hands, driving the guard back, while Jared lunging forward, whip still in him snatched the gun off the floor where the guard had abandoned it to fuck Jensen. The guard by the door, still distracted by his call doesn’t notice for the vital seconds that it  takes Jared to get the gun, and bring it up and without a moment’s hesitation shoot Alec in the head.   
  
  
The room is silent, no-one seems able to contemplate what the hell has happened. And it’s at that precise moment that the door is kicked down, and police flood in with calm reasonableness and shouted commands like the sudden violent imposition of order on chaos, and Jensen starts laughing at the sheer bizarre nature of fate.   
  
  
Later, when the laughter has died down and the paramedics have checked him over, slathered him in cream and laid him on his side for the moment, although as he keeps trying to tell them it hurts but he’s not an invalid, he finds out what happened. That some ordinary decent member of the public had been out for the day, and seen a van’s doors swing open on the freeway and two men trying to jump out. They’d got the plates, and phoned the cops who after a lengthy delay had managed to track it down here. He turns and Jared’s there, his eyes closed. “If I’d only waited,” Jared says and his voice is a hoarse whisper, terrible regret in his voice.   
  
  
That at least Jensen could deal with. “I’d have shot him myself,” he says and he knows it’s true. Whether the police had turned up or not, one way or another he knows he couldn’t let Alec live after what he’d done to Jared, and he knows that Jared felt the same way about what had happened to him. He feels ridiculous fierce disgusting envy that Jared was the one who put the bastard down, and he knows that long after the bruises have faded he’ll be dealing with the fallout of this, of having hated so intensely that he wanted to kill in cold blood.  He fumbles, presses Jared’s cold hand in his own. “I’d have killed him,” he reiterates. He knows it makes Jared a better person than him that he can feel regret at what he’s done and Jensen can’t help loving him for it.  
  
  
Jared’s fingers are cold but he squeezes back hard, as though Jensen’s the only real thing in his world, and nobody can see the future but Jensen wishes he could. It’s cliche he knows, the idea that you can find love in the darkest places, knows that it’s probably some variant of some syndrome or something  that he feels so much towards Jared, but can’t help thinking that you can only ever know what your senses tell you, and he knows that he doesn’t ever want Jared to go. Doesn’t want him to vanish from his life as quickly as he’d entered it. That there’s a lot of healing to be done, and a long road to walk, but he wants Jared to be beside him as he does. When Jared looks at him properly, Jensen sees the lost look in his eyes, lets Jared be the one to lean forward, and press their foreheads together, breathes in deep and lets the moment fill him. All of the world is  out there for them, and  it turns out that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger might be a little bit of a truism.


End file.
